


Clean

by kanoitrace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Identities, Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Child Death, Covens, Dark Magic, F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, Secret Identity, Wiccan Castiel, Witch Amelia, Witch Castiel, magic addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanoitrace/pseuds/kanoitrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The house is trashed- broken doors and glassware, upturned books and pillows and drawers- with the alter sustaining the brunt of the damage. The whole thing is destroyed, with candles broken to pieces and crystals scattered every which way, and in the center of it all? Well, that's where a human moose and the most beautiful man Castiel has ever laid eyes on stand. These, of course, are completely inappropriate thoughts to be having about the burglars that have just broken into one's house.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Dean and Sam are on the hunt for a witch. At first, they believe Castiel is the culprit of the murders. When it turns out he's innocent, the three end up teaming up to find the real perpetrator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this started as a kind of prompt from the ECKC (that I'm sure they don't remember because it was given to me a months ago lol). This... I actually don't know what's going to happen in this. I have no real clue what I'm doing, and I'm figuring it out as I go. There very well may be a rating change... we'll see.
> 
> As always, huge thanks to [pharoqueen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pharoqueen) for being my awesome beta! And shout out to the ECKC for giving me this prompt. As in, thanks guys, like I really needed another WIP (love you ladies, though!).

 The house is trashed- broken doors and glassware, upturned books and pillows and drawers- with the alter sustaining the brunt of the damage. The whole thing is destroyed, with candles broken to pieces and crystals scattered every which way, and in the center of it all? Well, that's where a human moose and the most beautiful man Castiel has ever laid eyes on stand. These, of course, are completely inappropriate thoughts to be having about the burglars that have just broken into one's house.

"I have 911 dialed and am ready to hit send! What are you doing in here!?" Castiel demands, brandishing the phone in one hand and clutching the pentacle around his neck with the other.

The moose and Mr. Gorgeous both stare at him for a moment, abashed, before Mr. Gorgeous straightens up and levels Castiel with a glare.

" _You'll_ call the police?" he gruffs, and Castiel tries to ignore the shiver that goes down his spine, tries not to imagine that voice whispering dirty things in his ear because _you don't fantasize about the guy who just burgled your house!_

Instead, Castiel says sternly, "Yes, I'll call the police! You broke into my house, you assbutts!" As the words come out of his mouth, he realizes arguing with and insulting burglars probably isn't the best idea.

"And you murdered all those people!" the moose man shouts, almost sounding aghast.

That stops Castiel in his tracks because seriously, what the hell? "What?" he asks lamely, eyes wide and blinking owlishly at the pair.

"You're a witch and you murdered those people!" the gorgeous one reiterates.

Castiel can't help it, he breaks out into hysterical laughter, doubling-over-hands-on-his-knees laughter. When he finally gets himself under control and straightens up, wiping tears from his eyes, the two burglars- _no, hunters_ , Castiel mentally corrects himself- look more on edge than they did before.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong person, I don't even practice witchcraft."

The two look at each other, a quick glance from the corners of their eyes, before turning their full attention back to Castiel.

"But the crystals and herbs," Moose Man says helplessly.

"The freaking pentagrams!" Mr. Gorgeous shouts, and Cas can almost imagine him flailing and stomping his foot as he says it.

Cas offers them a smile and a casual, what-can-you-do kind of shrug. "I'm a Wiccan. In faith only, at that. I don't practice magick."

The men look lost and embarrassed. _Which is the least they should be_ , Castiel thinks.

"Yeah, well, uh, sorry about the intrusion, then," Mr. Gorgeous grumbles, rubbing at his neck sheepishly.

"We'd um- We'd really appreciate if you didn't call the cops, man," Moose Man stutters, and his inflection almost makes it sound like a question.

Castiel smiles deviously. "No problem, so long as you reimburse me for damages."

Moose Man looks started and terribly guilty, while Mr. Gorgeous just turns beet red, and Castiel thinks it's more out of frustration than any actual shame.

"Look, if I'm not calling the cops, then I can't call the insurance company, and you dicks made a mess of my house," Castiel states, patience wearing thin by this point.

Moose Man won't look him in the eye when he says, "It's uh... Not exactly like we have that kind of money."

"Then you shouldn't break people's shit."

"We thought you were a murderer!" Mr. Gorgeous exclaims.

Castiel shoots him an icy glare. "And you were wrong. Now whose fault is that?"

Both men are cowed into silence.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he says, "Look, I understand you two are hunters, which isn't exactly a lucrative business, but I'm not made of money. If you both leave me alone, I won't mention that I saw you when I call the cops. You just better hope no one notices the delay between me getting home and making the call." When he looks up, both men are staring at him with looks of shock. "What!?" he barks.

"How the hell do you know we're hunters? How do you even know what that is?" Mr. Gorgeous demands, suspicion edging into his voice.

"I may be non-practicing, but I'm still a part of the magical community. I'm very well aware of your kind."

Moose Man shuffles his feet. "Look, we're really sorry, man. We'll uh, we'll leave now. But..." He pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his pocket, quickly scribbling something down. "If you find out anything about these murders, anything at all, can you give us a call?" He hands the paper to Cas- a receipt from a diner with a phone number on the back.

"I'm sure I don't know anything," Cas responds coldly.

Moose Man swallows nervously. "We'll just get out of your hair now." He skitters past Cas, towards the door.

"Wait!" Cas calls, and it stops the man in his tracks. "Don't you think you _might_ want to leave out the backdoor?"

"Oh! Right. Thanks." Moose Man stumbles, likely from the awkwardness of it all, before making a beeline to the back of the house. Mr. Gorgeous shoots Cas a mistrusting look as he walks by, and Cas has to bite back a sigh as he watches the guy's ass as he disappears. It's almost too bad he won't see the guy again. Almost. But good looks don't necessarily make up for breaking and entering. Not always.

Castiel heaves a deep, heavy sigh, looking around forlornly at the mess made of his home . It's time to stop fantasizing about douche bags and start making some phone calls.

 


	2. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He startles when a female voice wonders in pleasant surprise, “I never expected to see another bonafide magick user here.” 
> 
> When he looks up at her, it isn't her physical beauty that catches his eye. Instead, it's her aura – a brilliant turquoise, vast and strong. She takes up the room with it, and it steals Jimmy's breath away.
> 
> **
> 
> Or the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated not posting this until I had something more to offer because lol, short! But I figure may as well give you guys what I have. Think of this as more of a prologue (even though it's the second chapter).

Jimmy may be able to feel the fires of Beltane licking through his veins, but that doesn't save him from the torrential downpour currently happening. He's pretty sure the saying is “April showers bring May flowers,” not “April showers bring more May showers.” Mother Nature doesn't much seem to care for elementary school sayings, though, if the thunder and lightning overhead are anything to go by.

Jimmy stumbles into the bookstore, shoes sopping and with the overall appearance of a drowned rat. The girl at the counter glances his way when the bell chimes, signaling his entrance, and when she takes in what a mess he is, she crinkles her nose in dislike before returning to her book.

Oh well, what she thinks is none of Jimmy's concern. He's seen her type before – too much hair dye, too many piercings, and way too into pretending to be “ _mystical_.” With a quick glance at her aura, Jimmy can tell that there's not a whole lot mystical about her, other than maybe the Enya CD that he's sure is in her car. 

As he trudges towards the back of the store, he tries not to be too disgusted with the state of this store's clientele. It's pitiful, really, the amount of posers and wannabes that have come out of the woodwork in the past few years. So many people claim to be psychic or a medium or even a simple empath, when all they are is a sham. Most of them couldn't tell a spirit from a shoelace.

Reaching the back of the store, Jimmy grabs a book off the shelves, one dealing in spells involving crystals. He's felt inexplicably drawn to them lately, but it's a subject he's found that he's sorely undereducated in, the Novaks not placing much emphasis on the properties and abilities of stones. No, they care more about candles and inner strength and the occasional poppet spell.

Book in hand and out of sight of all other patrons, he curls up in a big arm chair, muttering under his breath a simple spell to dry himself off. There's no need to soak through a perfectly nice chair. He falls into his research wholeheartedly, absorbing all he can on the subject while he has the opportunity. The rest of the world falls away from him.

He startles when a female voice wonders in pleasant surprise, “I never expected to see another bonafide magick user here.”

When he looks up at her, it isn't her physical beauty that catches his eye. Instead, it's her aura – a brilliant turquoise, vast and strong. She takes up the room with it, and it steals Jimmy's breath away.

He next notices her smile as she says, “Have a name to go with all that green?”

His heart skips a beat in his chest because she can actually see his aura. Swallowing down his shock and nodding, he holds out his hand. “My name is Jimmy Novak.”

The mystery woman's smile widens. “That explains it then.” He wants to ask _“explains what?_ ” but then she's taking his hand and shaking it. “I'm Amelia Adler.”

The breath is knocked out of him. “ _That explains it_ ” indeed.

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He clicks back to the first article and starts reading. He reads every one, an icy pit slowly forming in his gut and widening with each subsequent story. All the articles note one odd similarity – the presence of a small, cloth doll with blackened basil leaves tied around it with string.

Castiel wakes, disoriented and grasping through the fog of his mind for dreams he's sure he had but can't recall. He lays in bed for a moment, staring up at the white expanse of the ceiling, feeling like he should remember, like it's important somehow, but the struggle proves fruitless. He can only find the blank slate of unawareness. Tamping down the nagging feeling of forgetfulness, he stumbles out of bed. Coffee is a necessity.

It isn't until he steps off the stairs, in clear view of the shambled state of his living room, that he remembers the previous day's events. Running a hand down his face and groaning, he pointedly ignores the mess and continues on to the kitchen. Once he has the coffee maker gurgling away, he leans against the counter and thinks about the day stretched out ahead of him. Blessedly, there is no work to drag himself to; however, there are insurance agents coming to assess the damage from the 'burglary.'

His minds drifts to green eyes and great asses before he quickly shakes the thought off. He pours himself a cup of coffee, uncaring that the brew is still dripping into the pot, muttering, "The caffeine situation is more dire than I thought."

Castiel goes through his day trying his hardest to avoid thoughts of hunters with nice asses and supernatural killing sprees, but, undoubtedly, his mind drifts to unremembered dreams at every minute lull it can find.

It's after the claims adjusters leave and before he's even fully cognizant of what he's doing that he sits down at his kitchen table, laptop in front of him and yet another cup of coffee in his hand. He stares at the flashing line in the Google search bar, unsure of just what he should even be looking for. Pursing his lips and sighing through his nose, he settles on typing in "strange deaths." He thanks the Goddess Divine for small graces such as GPS locator when the first few results are articles on recent deaths in the Greater Buffalo area.

The few pictures of the crime scenes that exist in the article are gruesome, blood spatters evident even in the black and white, leaving Castiel with the stomach-churning thought of just what did they look like before they were cleaned up? He clicks back to the first article and starts reading. He reads every one, an icy pit slowly forming in his gut and widening with each subsequent story. All the articles note one odd similarity – the presence of a small, cloth doll with blackened basil leaves tied around it with string.

Heart hammering in his chest, Castiel does a search for similar cases. There are a handful of new articles, dated just days prior, from other cities down Lake Erie. He snaps the computer shut, and when that doesn't help alleviate his anxieties, he pushes back front the table violently enough to topple his chair. He begins pacing back and forth through the kitchen, thoughts racing through his brain at a million miles per minute, impossible thoughts because it simply couldn't be. Why now? But the signature is too obvious, the path leading out of Buffalo and down the coast of the lake too precise.

He stops and forces in a few calming breaths. It won't do to immediately jump to panic. It could all be a complete coincidence. Still, the feeling of forgetting something continues to nag at him, too persistent to not heed. He heads for the trash can, digging through coffee grounds and broken debris, skin snagging along a few of the sharper edges, before his hand closes around a soft, small piece of paper. He pulls the receipt out, victorious, flipping it over to check that the number is still legible. Finding that it is, he quickly makes for his phone.

* * *

"So, what? This guy decides he suddenly knows something? After he was so adamant that he didn't yesterday?" Dean grouses. He's sitting on the bed, guns disassembled and spread around him as he cleans them, scowling the whole while.

Sam shrugs. "He just said he needed to talk to us."

Dean snorts derisively

"Look, can you really blame him for yesterday? He came home to find we ransacked his house," Sam reasons.

"We thought he was the witch!"

"Yeah, and he wasn't."

Dean's gaze burns into him for a moment more before his brother _harrumphs_ and returns his attention the guns. Sam's shoulders sag as he lets out a sigh. This has been a trying case, more and more people winding up dead, while they stumble around in the dark. Sam honestly hopes that Castiel Milton knows something that can help them before more people wind up dead.

A knock sounds at their door. A cursory glance at Dean shows that his brother is pointedly ignoring it. Rolling his eyes at the childish behavior, Sam gets up and opens the door. Castiel stands on the other side, nervous and twitchy.

"Come on in," Sam says, stepping out of the way for Castiel to enter.

Castiel nods and walks a few feet into the room, glancing around it before his eyes settle on Dean. Sam closes the door and goes to stand behind their guest. 

"So uh, can I get you anything?" Sam asks.

Castiel shakes his head, then stops, considering for a moment. He looks up, up, up at Sam and says, "Your names might be nice."

"Right, sorry. I'm Sam Winchester, and that sulky baby over there is my brother, Dean." The comment just makes Dean scowl more, which gives Sam no small amount of delight. 

Castiel nods. "Right, nice to meet you. Officially. I'm Cas Milton, though considering you are hunters and were in my house yesterday, I assume you know that."

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, guilt crawling up his insides. "Right. And, uh, sorry again, for, you know, all that. You um... you get the insurance stuff settled?" He tries not to focus on his concerns over the police.

At this, Castiel finally seems to calm down a little, rolling his eyes. "You don't have to pretend you care about that. I said I wouldn't tell the police about you, and I didn't."

For the first time since Castiel came in, Dean speaks. "That's the great thing about Sammy. He actually does care about that kind of crap."

Castiel's forehead creases as he looks between Dean and Sam, finally settling to stare at the latter as though he's some sort of foreign entity. Sam feels heat creep up the back of his neck at the look.

Trying to steer things back on track, Sam clears his throat. "So, uh, you said you might know something?"

The thoughtful expression disappears from Castiel's face in a flash, and suddenly he's back to being fidgety and nervous. "Oh... yes. Um... Well, I started looking up the murders, and the signature, the poppet and basil, well, it reminds me of a witch I once knew of. She uh, her coven, that is to say, they were involved in some pretty dark stuff. I hadn't heard much about her in years, though."

"So you think it's this witch?" Sam asks.

Castiel nods.

Dean's interest finally piqued now that they have a potentially solid lead, he asks, "You got a name for this witch?"

Castiel averts his eyes and swallows, worrying at his already chapped bottom lip. "Amelia Novak. Or Adler. It depends."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "'It depends'?"

Castiel nods. "She married a couple of years before falling off the grid. Not sure if she's using that name or her maiden one."

Sam nods thoughtfully. "Thanks, Cas, that's actually really helpful."

"There's another thing," Castiel interjects, still not meeting their eyes.

"Another thing?" Dean queries.

The fidgeting worsens. "The murders, they've moved beyond the city."

"Yeah, we figured out that much, were actually about to head out in the morning," Dean says.

"I think, um..." Castiel fingers the edge of his sleeve. "I think I know where she could be headed. Assuming it's her."

Sam and Dean share a look. Turning their attention back on Cas, Sam asks, "Where?"

"Pontiac, Illinois. It's where her coven is from."

Dean claps his hands together and then rubs his hands on his jeans. "Well, Sammy, sounds like we have our heading."

"Um..." Dean and Sam look at Castiel as though they had already forgotten he was there. "I would like to come with you, if you don't mind. I think I can help."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basil is an herb used for peace and happiness in the home and to protect it from evil. It's an herb for money and success, a happy family, and a peaceful home, as well as to drive away the Evil Eye.


	4. Interlude 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm not dead!

Every book, movie, story, whatever, that Jimmy has ever heard would have him believe that the asking is the hardest part. They are all fucking liars. Getting down on one knee and asking Amelia had been one of the easiest things he's ever done, had felt as right as breathing and the magick pumping under his skin. There'd never been a doubt in his mind as to her answer, and when her smile lit up the room as she said yes, he'd wanted to skip straight forward to _I do!_

So no, that wasn't the hard part. The hard part is where he's at now, with Amelia by his side as they stare down both their parents while the high priestess of the Grand Coven mediates the whole thing.

That's the problem with magical families, he thinks; and for the first time in maybe his whole life, he finds himself cursing what he was born into.

"Now I don't think it should be a problem," Rowena croons, completely ignoring the tension in the room. "You are both well respected families in the community. Honestly, I see nothing but success coming from the union of your two families. I'm actually wondering why I'm even here."

"That little Novak upstart," Amelia's father starts shouting, and it isn't the first time anyone in the room has heard the start to this argument.

"Zachariah Adler, you will mind your tongue," Rowena scolds, and with a snap of her fingers, he has no choice but to heed her warning, voice magically sealed away. Once she's satisfied that the man isn't going to do anything monumentally stupid, Rowena turns her attention to the young couple. "Miss. Adler, will you please explain to your father, yet again," here Rowena shoots an exasperated look in Zachariah's direction, "that young Mr. Novak here has not beguiled or coerced you into these impending nuptials in any way."

"It's more likely she'd do the coercing," Jimmy's mother mutters.

Rowena inhales deeply, steeling her patience, before she steals away Rebecca Novak's voice with a wave of her hand, as well. Addressing the ceiling more than any one individual person, Rowena says, "I have never understood the feud between both of your families, but I've kept my silence on it because it never seemed worth it to get in the middle of something so, quite frankly, exhausting. However, now that I am involved, you will please stop acting like complete and total numbskulls before I lose my patience." She looks at Jimmy and Amelia and gestures at them, no magic involved this time. "Please continue."

Amelia squeezes Jimmy's hand, and the two share an encouraging smile. They turn back to their parents and Amelia says, "Daddy, I know for whatever reason you think the Novaks are beneath us, and that just isn't true. Jimmy comes from a great magickal line, and he's a great man. I love him, and I didn't want it to come to this, but if you tell me no, I will find a way around it."

Rowena turns to Zachariah. "Well, there you have it. She's made her threat. Do you really want to see your only daughter make good on it?"

Zachariah glares defiantly up at her.

"Ah, yes, my bad." With a flick of her wrist, Zachariah's voice is restored, and immediately he's shouting.

"What goes on between my family and me is none of your business!"

A grin spreads across Rowena's face, almost feline in its predation. "Do you really think that?" she posits. "Because the way I see it, it is very much my concern. I watch out for the well-being of the whole of the Grand Coven, which does indeed involve you and your family. Though it needn't, I suppose." She ends with a flippant shrug of her shoulder.

Rebecca narrows her eyes speculatively. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Apparently her voice has been restored, as well; for a moment, Jimmy almost feels sad about that.

"It means," Rowena begins, "that while I care not at all for whatever petty argument fueled this feud in the past, I care very much for where it takes the Coven as a whole in the future. Your children show great promise in their power, and I would hate to lose them because you lot couldn't get your heads out of your arses. So my proposal is this: either you give your blessings, or I excommunicate you, your families, and all future generations."

"You can't do that!" Rebecca screams.

"Oh, but I'm afraid I can, my dear," Rowena chirps. "And he knows it, too." She glances at Zachariah, flashing him a challenging smile to which he can only glower. When he doesn't respond, she goes on, "I will not have silly grievances no one else remembers causing strife in my coven, and as such, I will not be retaining people who look to continue on about such things. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Zachariah mutters.

"Of course," Rebecca says, head hung low.

"Well, then!" Rowena claps her hands together and turns back around to face the couple. "Now that that's all settled, I'll be looking forward to the invitation to your handfasting."

Jimmy doesn't point out that as high priestess, she will be the officiate. He's smart enough to know she's simply making a point for show before she waltzes out, skirt swirling with exaggeration behind her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [kanoitrace](http://kanoitrace.tumblr.com/).


End file.
